That Felt Like Yesterday
by AnlgspAndOnceUponASomeday
Summary: Rayna and Deacon co-write...and then 'co-write'.


**All that Rayna and Deacon co-writing made Anlgsp and I feel like a little co-writing of our own. I don't write smut, it makes me blush, but she does, so she stepped in and turned up the thermostat. Diane - look away now.**

It wasn't so much that Deacon was nervous, more that he wasn't sure what to expect. He'd busied himself all morning cleaning his house, as though Rayna was going to perform an inspection and declare his coffee table too sticky and the job a bust before they'd even picked up a pen. The wilting flowers were cleared from the mantelpiece, a month's worth of newspapers banished to the garbage, and he'd dusted - he hadn't _dusted_ in years - every surface, all his guitar paraphernalia. The house was spick and fucking span, and it smelt a little pungently like lemons and brass rub.

It had struck him when he was scrubbing under the microwave that he didn't go to nearly this much trouble for Megan, and Rayna was far less likely to care than she was. She'd lived in this house with him back when they'd happily sat among piles of crumpled notepaper and discarded clothes on the couch, when they'd eaten toast in bed and left the plates forgotten on the bedside table while they toured for weeks at a time. Maybe he wasn't preparing the house for Rayna's visit as much as he was trying to erase any trace of the woman who had been sharing his bed in her place.

He hadn't been alone with Rayna in months. They were about to write together, for the first time in fifteen years, and the intimacy of it was not at all lost on Deacon. He couldn't remember a time when songwriting hadn't equalled sweaty limbs and her sex-soaked voice in his ear - that was precisely why they hadn't done it all this time.

He'd been so surprised when she'd asked him, had looked at her in disbelief for so long that she'd had to repeat her question before he'd given her an answer. As though there would ever be any answer other than yes - he would do anything to write with her, it had always been that way. The music was their constant, their foolproof method of communication even when they were barely speaking.

Apprehensive though he may be, Deacon was excited. Everything about the afternoon that scared him gave him a simultaneous thud in his chest when he thought about it: the possibility of what they would create together, the chance to be around Rayna, to be free to look at her, catch up on her life. To hear her laugh, he thought, after everything of late, would be the sweetest sound he could hope for.

He was trying to remember the last time he'd heard that laugh when she knocked on his door.

"Hey," he said, opening it to see her standing on his porch, her smile a little shy.

"Hey," Rayna returned, ducking her head, and Deacon wiped sweaty palms down his jeans. She was nervous too, he could tell, and he wasn't sure if it made him feel better to know she felt the same way, or terrified that he wasn't imagining the big deal this was.

She was wearing a silk blouse, soft against his bare arm as she unintentionally brushed past him on her way inside. The color set off her skin and made her look porcelain, almost, and Deacon tried his very best not to notice how it clung to her in every place his eyes were absolutely not allowed to stray. She smelled like Rayna, like some sort of flower he'd never been able to put his finger on, and something a little more dangerous that had always intoxicated him.

He took a deep breath.

"So…" she said, hugging her notebook to her chest. "How do you want to do this?"

Deacon grinned.

#

"Been a long time since we've written together, huh?"

Rayna was as far from him on the couch as she could get, subconsciously or not, her legs crossed, hands in her lap playing with a pen she'd pulled from her bag.

"It's been a long time since we've done anything together," she agreed, aloofness trying to mask the weight of her words, but it was Deacon she was talking to - there was no masking anything, not even when they both pretended otherwise.

"Yeah," he said quietly, and her body softened the tiniest bit in response. "Hey, you think some coffee might help us out here?"

"Coffee always helps," she replied and he scampered to the kitchen, leaving her to sit and stare at her empty notebook.

Rayna had a lot of memories of this couch. They'd bought it together when they'd moved into the house, and she'd spent countless Sunday mornings sat on it in panties and Deacon's holey T-shirts, writing in between hot kisses and scrambled eggs. It was a wonder Maddie hadn't been conceived right there on the soft leather, considering how much sex they'd had on it. She'd always winced internally whenever anyone had come over to the house and made themselves comfortable, oblivious. Poor Bucky had been the most regular victim. She really should give him a pay rise.

She patted the cushion underneath her, amazed and oddly proud that it had lasted so long, and kicked off her shoes, pulling one of her legs up under her and settling herself. When Deacon returned, two steaming mugs of fragrant coffee in his hands, she smiled up at him gratefully and took one, the leather creaking as she leaned back. He said nothing, but sat down a little closer to her, peering at her out of the corner of his eye while he freed his own feet from their shoes.

"So I listened to the album," he said. "It's good Ray, I'm real impressed."

"Thanks," she replied, her cheeks warm. His opinion meant a lot to her - it meant everything, really - he was the yardstick she measured everything against, always had been. "So you get the kind of thing I wanna add in?"

"Somethin' a little light-hearted, I'd say, catchy, not to be taken too seriously. I think you need somethin' to balance the feel of it out." He looked at her carefully. "There's a lot of deep stuff on there."

"Yeah," she said. "Seems I had a lot to say."

Wasn't _that_ the truth. Deacon had had to pace the room while he'd listened to the tracks, the lyrics close to the bone. She'd poured everything she had into the record: it was her, in every word, every note, and how proud he was of her bravery to slice herself right down the middle and open herself up. The truest art was found in the blood, after all.

"You sure did."

Their eyes met and she gave him another bashful smile, blowing on her drink while the tension in the room swirled around them. So many of the songs were about him, so many of her songs had always been about him, and they both knew it; there was no point trying to skirt around it. Her giving the disc to him had been like handing him her diary, willingly granting him access to her feelings, her fears about him, about them. She'd hoped he would realize: the record was an apology and a promise - it was her gift to him.

"Somethin' light-hearted sounds good Deacon."

"Well in that case - what are we doin' up here?"

The floor, maybe because there was room to stretch out, maybe because it made them feel more grounded, had always been their favorite place to write. They would start off on the couch, under the shared pretence that they would be civilized and sit on actual furniture, and every time, with barely a word on paper, they'd end up sprawled half-under the coffee table, knees touching, heads close together.

"You know Scarlett's gonna think we've lost our minds, she comes in here now," Rayna said, plucking a cushion off the couch to slide under her ass.

"She's not comin' back 'til late, doin' promo stuff apparently."

"Oh… right." She had no idea why but her stomach jumped. They were alone, the door closed and everyone else on the other side of it. It felt good, damn good. She didn't want to admit how much she'd missed this, but her skittering heart had other ideas.

"You know, maybe this song should be about exactly what you said, keepin' it light-hearted. Form and content, you know?"

"Easy love?"

Rayna looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "Not love," she said, shaking her head. "Ain't nothin' easy about love."

Deacon's laugh was without humour. "You and I would know all about that." He chewed his lip, giving her a wry smile. "So are we talkin' lust?"

He was talking about the song, but they both knew it was his veiled way of asking her about Luke, about how serious it was. She wasn't in love with him, Deacon thought with a flash of gratitude that he immediately berated himself for. They were moving on, living their lives - if she was in love with Luke Wheeler that was her business.

Still, she wasn't. He wanted to punch the air with joy.

"Hmm, somethin' like that. Downgrade lust to like, maybe. Like is more simple."

Deacon picked up his guitar, his fingers starting to strum loosely, playing about with fragments of a would-be melody. There had never been any awkwardness with them doing this, no reluctance to try things out in front of each other, to toss a lyric around in experimentation. Their trust in each other to make the leap from a blank page to something beautiful was implicit, both sound in the knowledge that they could reach into the furthest corners of themselves and have a lifeline to bring them back from all that that lurked there.

"_Like_ is more simple when it's two-sided," Deacon countered, thinking about Megan having unceremoniously moved her toothbrush into his bathroom a few weeks earlier. He liked Megan; she liked space in his cabinet. Space in his cabinet equalled, as far as he was concerned, complicated. Rayna's toothbrush had always belonged in his cabinet. It occurred to him that they'd always been fucked up, pole vaulting any conventional stages. They'd bypassed like and gone straight to full-on love, and the lust part had drenched every second they'd ever spent together. It had never, he realized in a twenty-five year delayed reaction, scared either of them how immediately and deeply they'd fallen for each other. He didn't even want to examine why that was.

"I don't know why it always gets so messy," Rayna said, and he huffed in agreement. "It would be so nice to just keep it, you know… no one tryin' to make it somethin' it's not, and that bein' okay."

"To take it slow, huh?" He carried on his plucking, letting himself feel what she was saying, and something started to come together, the twangy playful sound he could hear in his head coaxed into being by his fingers.

"Hmm." She picked up her pen, and the thrill that she got every time they did this shot through her; it was a beginning, of what neither of them knew yet - and that was the beauty of it all. She sang vaguely along with his tune, words and lines that started to piece together, pausing to scribble them down, and Deacon nodded encouragingly.

As they wrote, the flood gates creaked open, the feelings they'd banished tiptoeing to the surface, tentative and curious. All that was broken between them couldn't be healed with one simple song, but it was a place to start, and they both felt it. Words they couldn't say yet hung in the air between them, clouding it thick and heavy; they would say them, when the time was right, but now wasn't it. Now was the time for other words, sung not spoken, as was so often their way.

"How about this," Deacon said, looking over Rayna's shoulder at her surprisingly messy handwriting, "_You don't need a key to my house, we don't need to dream and plan and scheme, ain't nothin' here to figure out_."

She eyed him. "That comin' from somewhere in particular?"

"No," he said with a shrug. "Just a lyric."

Truth was, every lyric came from somewhere in particular, and he knew Rayna was more than aware of that, but she let him have his denial, testing the words out without pushing him. Megan would never understand this, could never know what it was to be connected to someone in this way, with a strength that never flickered or faded. To know he would never share that with her, that she could never be this for him, made him sad, but he almost laughed at his own absurdity. Of course she would never be this for him. There was only one person in the world who ever would.

"What is it?" Rayna asked when he sighed.

"Nothin' Ray. It's nothin'." He set down his guitar and crossed his legs. "Feel like pizza?"

#

Little specks of grease smudged the words on Rayna's page. She dabbed at one, succeeding only in making it worse, and finished the slice in her hand, wiping the residue on a napkin and laughing.

"What?"

"Deacon you have tomato on your nose."

"I do not."

"Yes you do - come here." She took another napkin and pulled him to her by his chin, in much the way she did when Daphne dug too eagerly into her ice-cream bowl. Deacon stayed still, watching her, his shoulders shaking with a little chuckle.

"You're a mess," she told him fondly, giving him a shove away and stretching her arms out, her head dropping back onto the edge of couch. "I'm exhausted. How did we do this on so little sleep back in the day?"

"Back in the day? What are we - retired now? When did you last have a good night's sleep Ray?"

"Good point."

She twisted her head and watched him lick his fingers, suppressing a shiver. He sucked heartily on them, not just the tips - the whole damn things disappeared into his mouth, one at a time, and Rayna tried desperately not to let her mind go anywhere near where it wanted to. He was that way with everything - Deacon Claybourne did not half-ass a job. When he sucked, he sucked good, and Rayna had a catalogue of memories that could more than prove the point.

"So…" she said, sitting up straighter and tearing her eyes from him. "Scarlett's gettin' people talkin'."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm. I knew she would, she's got the whole package. I spoke to Watty the other day, he thinks she's headed for big things, says I should be careful she doesn't get poached."

Deacon waved a hand. "Ain't a soul in the world could poach her from you. She looks up to you Ray, has done ever since she was a grasshopper."

"Well, I sure don't have any worries about her doin' anythin' but makin' some great music. Daphne's her biggest fan, you should see her - every time Scarlett comes round the house she hangs off her ankles and asks if they can do makeovers."

"Daphne's got herself a new makeover buddy? I feel so rejected. I let the kid put nail polish on me when her and Maddie were here the other day, I thought we had some loyalty goin' there."

It had been the first time in a long time he'd seen Rayna smile, not a polite just-dropping-off-our-thirteen-year-old-kid smile, or a hey-I'm-glad-we're-not-dead-but-get-away-from-me grimace. It was a real smile, for him, and something inside him shattered when he saw it. His answering expression drained from his face and he looked away, letting out a breath. It was fucking painful how beautiful she was when she smiled.

"Hey," she said gently as he lapsed into silence, prodding him in the leg with the tip of her pen. "You gonna finish that?"

#

"I remember," Deacon said, not looking at Rayna. The pizza was as eaten as it was going to get, the box laying open on the table full of crusts, their sustenance break perking them both up.

"You remember what?"

"Writin'_ I Shouldn't Love You_."

"Oh?"

She remembered too. He'd made her come before they'd even got to the bridge, and the rest of the song had been written without so much as a scrap of clothing between them, in a tangle of sheets with hands wandering and tongues finding each other's mouths every few minutes. By the time they'd gotten to the last line he'd already been easing inside her again, and she'd thrown the pen blindly across the room as he'd bitten down on her neck and breathed her own name into her ear. Every time they'd performed the song they'd given each other a secret look, the knowledge of how it had come to be shared only by them.

"I was right - we _did_ start off on this floor," Deacon said, a husky edge to his voice, "but you were wearing these little shorts and I couldn't concentrate."

Rayna snickered. Her short shorts always had driven him crazy; her long legs in frayed denim were like catnip to Deacon. She could still feel his hands sliding up her skin, his fingers tucking their way under the hem barely covering her ass.

"So I took 'em off," he finished, and Rayna swallowed, hard.

"Mmhmm, and that _really_ helped your concentration. You barely even put down your guitar before you threw me on that bed."

"Yup," he said, the tips of his ears a little pink, "I had to come back out here and get it before we could write a damn thing, but you know, worked out pretty well - you needed a little time to recover."

She turned to flash him a don't-you-even look and caught the wicked grin on his face, and it felt, suddenly, like no time had passed at all. If he'd scooped her up by her ass and carried her to his bed again right that second Rayna would have had no objections, and she scolded herself for the thought.

"Songwritin' clearly isn't your only talent, Deacon…" she said before she could stop herself.

"Is that so?"

Rayna's brain screamed _dangerous territory ahead_, but she wasn't listening.

"Well, we obviously did somethin' right," she said, trying to stop her voice from sounding quite so thick, "that is one hell of a song."

"Sure is. Sex and writin' always have worked well together for us," Deacon agreed. "Hmm, a little too well," he added quickly, realizing they were on very thin ice and jumping up from the floor awkwardly. "I'm gonna get us some soda - cherry okay?"

"It's hot in here, isn't it?" Rayna said when he returned, reaching out to swipe the beads of condensation rolling down the glasses and pressing a damp hand to her temple.

"Yeah," he replied, looking out of the window at the trees being tossed about by the wind. There hadn't been so much as a clear sky in days. "Somethin' like that. Where were we?"

"Just this part to brush up."

Deacon sat down next to her, gulping his drink; the cold shocked his stomach, helping him to clear his head. Rayna had her concentration face on, the one he'd always found adorable, a little frown and pursed lips making her look like she was sixteen and studying for an exam. He let his shoulders drop, his tension draining away as she sang the second verse through.

They had the lyrics down, but she wasn't quite happy with the flow, and it was frustrating her. She'd crossed out and re-written the same part six times, and when he'd gone to the kitchen she'd made herself push away the image of them writing mid-sex and tried to focus on them writing fully-clothed, right now. And it was a killer song - they really could crank out a hit. It always felt so cathartic, getting down on paper what had been swelling inside them.

Getting out what was swelling inside her now would take a little more than paper to remedy.

"That part Ray."

She was too distracted to have a clue what he was saying. He was leaning so close to her that his breath was puffing down the front of her shirt, tunneling its way between her cleavage while he waited for her to answer him and making her entire body tingle. Warm or not, she should have worn a sweater - how much safer it would be if she was encased in a nice thick cashmere. Less fluttery.

"Right there," he said into her neck, and she was too slow to do anything about the heat that pulsed through her stomach and made her cross her legs under the table. She berated her body for betraying her, not daring to move a muscle.

"What?" she asked, her voice an octave too high and a good dollop of horniness too breathy.

"There," he repeated, and Rayna felt him look up, his gaze lingering on her. She steeled herself, eyes fixed firmly on her page. He was staring at her lips, she fucking knew he was, and she sucked the bottom one into her mouth without realizing what she was doing - or maybe she realized exactly what she was doing - and heard him huff unevenly, her shirt billowing in response and not at all helping the situation.

Deacon pulled back abruptly and she let herself throw a glance at him, wishing immediately that she hadn't. His mouth was open, the pink of his tongue visible as it wet his lips, and his eyes were hooded and fixed squarely on her; he may have put distance between them but it was too much to ask of his willpower that he look away from her too. He breathed just a little too heavily, his fingers digging into the carpet like he was trying to stop himself from using them to rip her clothes off.

_Jesus_ she wanted him to rip her clothes off. If he was any sexier he would have to come with a health warning. Like cigarettes. _Beware: touching any part of this man may cause palpitations, dizziness and pregnancy. Consume at your own risk_.

"Ray?"

"Yeah…what …yeah?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"…..Um…..right there?"

She blushed, feeling like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"That…that lyric there," he said, clearing his throat and shaking his head a little, dropping his eyes to the paper in front of her, and she nodded, reminding herself that was the point of her being there. What the hell was it about music and Deacon that unravelled every shred of control she ever tried to exercise?

"What about it?" Rayna asked, deliberately hardening her voice to sound more business-like.

"It's um…I think we wanna take it and stretch it out, maybe break this line up here and mould them together."

"Like this?"

"Yeah…that works, you think?"

She mouthed the newly constructed verse to herself. "I sure do. You know what, I think we're good here - let's run through this thing."

#

His guitar was the only thing between them, and he was aware that he was clinging to it too tightly, but it was all that was stopping him from pouncing on her. She was leaning into him and he could smell her, and if he let himself he could very easily look down her shirt and give himself an early birthday present. But he didn't, he kept his eyes on her face and his hands to himself.

"That felt like yesterday," he said, because damn, it did.

"Yeah," she agreed, and for a moment Deacon thought danger was about to pass, but when she repeated the word she all but purred and he couldn't take it anymore. He saw her fingers clench the couch and he was gone.

Rayna didn't move away from him. She couldn't have done even if she'd wanted to - and she did not want to. She inched forward, her knees brushing his, and he stared at her, his mouth hanging open like he wanted to eat her. He stayed where he was, frozen to the spot, and when she moved close enough that one of her knees slipped between his and brushed against the inside of his thigh, a strangled noise came from his throat.

"Rayna," he growled and she licked her lips.

She knew exactly what she was doing when her belt buckle screeched against the front of his guitar and her hand gripped the back of his head pulling him closer. She didn't leave him time to think, he didn't need it.

Her breath tickled his lips for a split second before pouring into his mouth. Their lips met and all the pretending of the past few hours came to a stop. Deacon inhaled deeply as he drew her lower lip into his mouth, capturing it with his teeth. A sigh escaped her lips as his hand right hand moved to her neck and his fingers tangled in her hair. Deacon angled his head and sucked hard on her lip one last time before setting it free.

Their brains hadn't processed yet what was happening when their tongues started dancing over one another's, seeking and teasing. She could feel him breathing through her mouth and a loud, suffocated moan escaped her lips. Rayna couldn't believe what was happening. When they ran out of breath their bodies started to distance from one another, their lips clinging to each other's until the very last second. Deacon's eyes fluttered open, his chest heaved rapidly. Rayna looked down, scared that if she looked up she would find regret waiting for her in his eyes.

"Ray," he whispered softly, his breath still uneven. Their eyes locked and silence filled the room in in answer to their unspoken question. Deacon lifted his guitar off his lap and placed it on the floor, his eyes never leaving hers. Had she been looking for a way out, that would have been it, but she wasn't and neither was he. It had always been both their conviction and their salvation, the unstoppable need to be together that at times resulted in desperation. This time was no different.

Rayna launched herself at him. He caught her and they fell to their knees on the carpet before his arms had fully wrapped around her tiny frame. They devoured each other, every kiss making the thought of breathing all the more inconsequential. Rayna's hands were on each side of his face, keeping him still, keeping him close, right where she wanted him. Their tongues engaged in a battle that would have neither winners nor losers, and his taste buds rejoiced at the familiar taste in his mouth, the particular flavor that was so her, that had become his over the years.

She arched into him, pressing herself even closer. His grip on her was so firm and strong she felt like he was sucking the air out of her lungs. A groan erupted from the back of his throat when his hands found their way beneath her blouse and his palms flattened out on her smooth warm back. Rayna gasped as their lips parted and Deacon began to rain hungry kisses on her jaw and down her neck, until his mouth found her collarbone. He brought one hand up to her shoulder and moved the silky material out of the way so he could have better access to her favorite spot.

Rayna couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips when his mouth covered her skin again. A loud expletive followed when his teeth and tongue began their assault, his stubble scratching and tickling her neck, and Rayna cradled the back of his head in her hand, a soft moan parting her lips. Deacon smiled against her skin and traced her collarbone with his tongue, leaving a wet trail up to her ear.

Rayna was slowly losing control over her body; she tightened her grip on his head and circled his shoulder with her arm, squeezing him hard. His tongue tiptoed for a while on the soft patch of skin below her ear before he took her earlobe in his mouth and sucked hard on it, leaving her no choice but to fall prey to him. Her body instinctively pressed further into his solid chest, his hands wandering down her hip, her thighs, along her ass torturously slowly.

If they'd asked him to describe her body he could have painted a clear picture of it; from the freckles on her nose and cheeks to the tiny mole near her belly button. He'd studied her body like a map and yet he would get lost in her every damn time.

Rayna sighed, distracted by the heat that was prickling under her skin when his mouth left her neck and kissed her again. She yielded to him willingly, parting her lips against his as she clung to his shoulders, curling her fingers into the crisp cotton of his shirt. They were so strong, mighty, like they could carry the weight of the world upon them, and so many times Rayna felt like they did.

Deacon's tongue brushed the tip of hers and she gave into him wantonly as he drank her in. It felt so good to have her back in his arms, to feel the warmth of her body against his and revert to that place in time when her embrace was home to him. He felt her squirm against him before she pushed at his shoulders, breaking their contact. Deacon looked up at her, lips slightly parted as he struggled to breathe normally. She pushed him back a little, making him sit on his calves, and ran her long lean fingers along his chest, feeling his muscles quiver and jump under her touch. She undid the first four buttons of his shirt and then with an "Ah screw this," grasped fistful of cotton in her hands and yanked the fabric over his head, tossing it across the room. She felt her stomach twist and turn inside of her, the sight of his bare chest alone almost enough to make her trip over the edge.

Rayna took his face in her hands and kissed him hungrily, bringing her body closer to his. She leaned against him and captured his hips between her knees, her core flat against his sturdy middle. Deacon groaned against her mouth and took her butt in his hands, keeping her in place. He was overwhelmed by the onslaught of her kisses but let her have her way nonetheless, afraid that if he opened his eyes, that if he only tried to draw a breath again, she would disappear. He couldn't quite believe Rayna, his Ray, was back in his arms; he hadn't even dared to hope something like this would happen again after the accident. And yet here they were, joined together, blended; there was no way to separate into two what had become one a long time ago.

Rayna ducked her head with a desperate grunt, tearing her mouth from his. Her chest was heaving against his, the tips of her curls tickling his shoulders and chest.

"We should probably stop," Deacon managed to let out, panting. He didn't want to stop, but he felt like they owed it to themselves. to the daughter they shared and their respective partners, to be a hundred percent sure about this. Random hook-ups weren't their thing; hell they'd fought every natural law for years while she was married because they knew that once that line was crossed there would be no uncrossing it. He would have gladly done so, walking on his hands, but he needed Rayna to be as sure as he was.

"We probably should." She inhaled deeply, leaning her forehead against his, her hands caressing his pectorals.

"Why aren't you stopping then?" He looked right into her eyes; all he could see was the deep blue shade clouding them.

Rayna wet her lips in anticipation, her eyes darting from his eyes to his mouth before she tentatively leaned in and brushed her lips against his. Encountering no resistance she angled her head, her hand sliding up his chest and into his hair. Her lips glided over his ever so slightly, the tip of her tongue tracing the perimeter of his mouth. Their eyes locked; she could read his agony - he was aching for her. Her body sashayed against his ever so slowly as her lips finally captured his, their tongues circling leisurely, the kiss deepening with every second that passed. His mouth still tasted of pizza, making her want to devour him all the more.

Force of habit brought the apex of her thighs against his core once, twice, three times as their kisses grew more impatient, more frantic, their bodies seeking the contact that their minds were trying to resist. She felt his fingers move above the fabric of her blouse; he grasped a handful of the silk material and unceremoniously yanked it from the waistband of her pants in his desperate quest to feel her skin against his.

"Up," he urged, breaking their kiss. Rayna raised one arm at a time, grasping his shoulder for balance, and Deacon pulled the blouse over her head, letting it fall to the floor. Their hungry mouths found each other again, and his hands were everywhere: tracing the curve of her spine, molding to the shape of her hips, caressing her ass.

She felt a denim encased bulge throb against her thigh and moaned loudly into his mouth, "God, Deacon!"

The warmth she'd been feeling up until that moment turned into a pulsing heat, shooting through and around them. The more she tried to contain herself, the more the fabrics of his jeans and her pants collided. It was a sweet torture for Deacon to feel her so close and yet not close enough.

Rayna looked down at him, her breath laboured, swollen lips and rosy cheeks on display for him only. He loved how her features managed to spell arousal and devotion all in one expression.

"We could still stop, you know?" he tried one last time, looking up at her.

"Oh I know." She nodded, chewing the inside of her cheek.

He brushed her hair off her shoulder and started kissing her silky skin over and over, slowly descending towards her chest, the stubble on his face abrasive. One finger slipped beneath the strap of her bra and he gently pushed it over her shoulder; Rayna shuddered as it landed on her arm. Deacon traced the outline of her lace bra with his finger, his mouth leaving soft pecks in between her breasts. He stifled a moan as he felt her suck in a shaky breath. The material of her bra was stretching, feeling like a confinement, and when he moved it aside and covered it with his mouth she pressed up into him.

"Babe," she purred, her nails raking over his scalp.

The term of endearment that so naturally tumbled from her lips was enough to make him lose the last bit of rationality he had left. His hands found their way to her back and unclasped the bra that was dangling off her arms, and Rayna gasped when she felt his hand and mouth on her, covering every centimeter of skin he'd exposed. She felt his tongue laving and sucking on her nipple, his other hand massaging her right breast. He was driving her wild with all his suffocated moans, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she gave into him, brushing her pelvis against him. The layers of clothing that kept them apart were their only obstacle, frustrating them both.

When Deacon's teeth sank into her skin he felt her pant beneath him, her chest rising up and down, every intake of breath quicker and sharper than the one before. He knew every inch of her body like the back of his hand and when his left hand moved from her chest down to the front of her pants, he anticipated her reaction.

Rayna took his face in her hands bringing it back to hers, her lips crashing against his, and her tongue found his before he could grab the buckle of her belt and undo it. Her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulder as the kiss intensified, noses pressing into each other's cheeks. It wasn't enough - they desperately wanted more. The muscles of Rayna's stomach tensed as Deacon fumbled with her belt and the button of her pants; she could feel him hard against her thigh and wasn't sure she could handle the foreplay much longer.

Deacon broke the kiss, gasping for air. "Rayna this is wrong," he spluttered, coming back to his senses for a split second. He regretted uttering the words as soon as they his lips; this wasn't wrong, every muscle in his body was screaming just how right it was.

Rayna started kissing along his jaw, her hands wandering further and further down his chest. They reached their final destination and Deacon grunted in response biting down on his lip to stop himself cursing. Rayna distracted him again, lowering her lips back to his, taking things slow, going easy on him. Deacon could feel his jeans getting tighter and tighter as her nails skimmed across the fabric.

"Tell me you don't want this," she murmured against his lips. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

Deacon let out a shaky breath and captured her lips with his. Their tongues latched and every bit of doubt was forgotten.

His hand slipped inside the waistband of her underwear; the fabric was damp against the back of his hand and he didn't hesitate to reach up and brush the pads of his fingers against her.

"God, baby!"

He broke the kiss to focus his attention on the task at hand. Rayna threw her head back as she let out a long, loud "Ah!" when he started stroking her. Deacon was amazed by how wet she was already, his hand slipping. He angled it, trying to make room between her legs to push two fingers into her, and felt Rayna squeeze her walls around him in response.

Without thinking twice he took her in his arms and threw her on the closest flat surface he could find. Rayna landed on the coffee table wide-eyed, an arm arching out to catch herself, notebooks, notepads and pens crashing to the floor. Deacon pushed her down, careful not to let her hips touch the table, and Rayna felt the cardboard pizza box behind her, but it was too late to save her hair from landing on top of the leftovers in the box.

Deacon took a moment to look at her: breasts rising up and down with her labored breathing, red marks from his scruff appearing on her chest, the flustered expression on her face. She was a vision to him. Before needless words could be exchanged Rayna felt her pants along with her thong being slid down her legs. She sensed her resolution following closely behind it, all ending up somewhere on the floor piled with crumpled pieces of paper and pizza crusts. Deacon knelt down and started kissing her stomach, his tongue poking out to taste her, the sweet aroma of her skin.

Rayna squirmed impatiently beneath him. He could send her willpower flying out of the window whenever he fixed her with his lustful stare, when he caressed her with his strong hands. Her brain had lost the ability to formulate thoughts somewhere between him sucking on her nipples and pulling off her panties. She wasn't honestly sure her brain processed a single thought other than 'fuck me now' whenever Deacon was around, it didn't matter if she was sixteen or forty-two.

"Deacon please," she implored when his nose brushed against the top of her thigh, his breath so hot on her skin it could have been ablaze.

He looked up at her one last time, a mischievous smirk decorating his lips, and recommenced his slow descent. The fact she couldn't keep still beneath him made him all the more arouse; she couldn't control herself - whether she liked it or not she was completely at his mercy.

He brought both his hands up to her hips and closed his palms around her curves, his calloused fingers feeling like they were cutting into her flesh. Before his mouth could reach its final destination he brought himself up on his knees and parted her legs further, pulling her flat against his chest. He let out a groan as he felt her dampness wetting his own skin, and bent forward to kiss her long and hard, his teeth biting down on her lip with such a strength he could taste her blood in his mouth. Rayna reciprocated the kiss with equal passion. She reached for his jeans and fumbled with the buckle and buttons for what seemed like an eternity.

"You're killing me," he groaned against her lips.

"Goddamn it," was all he got in return - she couldn't quite understand why in the world he would wear jeans with a series of buttons rather than a zipper. The kiss grew more and more impatient, both their bodies aching for each other. When Rayna popped the last button open she smiled against his lips and broke the kiss, leaving soft pecks on his cheek. Slowly her hand made its way into his cotton boxers and wrapped around him, her nails scratching his flesh teasingly.

"Now we're talking," she murmured against his skin before she started playing with her favorite toy. She could feel him stretching in her palm, still confined by his jeans and boxers. Her thumb rolled over his tip a few times before Deacon put a stop to her teasing and caught her wrist in his hand.

"I swear to God you're killing me," he panted, parting his lips from hers.

"Am I?" she asked, her voice low and laden with gravel.

She never got the answer to her question. She felt the tip of his tongue parting her flesh, lipping at the juices that had already escaped.

"Oh God!" was all she could manage to say before she felt his tongue inside of her. It took less than a second for his mouth to get from hers to her core. It was rough, uncontrolled, animalistic. And she loved it. His tongue swirled and pushed as his hands gripped her hips even tighter. She prayed to God he wouldn't leave bruises on her hips; he did all he could to make sure he would. Despite the firm hold that was turning her skin from rose to red she managed to grind her hips against his face, his mouth ringing her entrance, his beard tickling every inch of skin surrounding it. It was overwhelming; she gasped repeatedly as her fingers flitted through his hair, clinging to him in desperation and need.

Deacon's mouth worked her relentlessly, his grunts meeting her gasps with every inch he moved further inside her. Rayna tried to utter words that would make the slightest bit of sense, but she came up short; half syllables and short stifled moans were all she could articulate. His hands slid down, coming to a stop when they reached the back of her knees. He pushed them up and wrapped her legs around his shoulder, and her calves entwined by habit, taking him prisoner between her legs. She squeezed her thighs around him, bringing him closer, and a sound came from the back of his throat: a grunt, melting into a moan. He tasted the sweet, musky tang of Rayna on his lips and tongue; no one had ever tasted quite like her, no one ever could.

Rayna's soft whimpers made him realize she was close. "Please stop," erupted from her lips, but if anything made his tongue move faster and deeper inside her, exploring every inch of the walls he knew so well.

"Babe, please. I cannot hol-"

it was too late. A series of "Ah"s and "Oh"s rolled off her tongue and she felt a rush of heat through her body. Deacon stopped his sweet torture and brought his right thumb to her clit, circling it clockwise, his red swollen lips leaving her. He let her ride her orgasm freely until her heels fell to the floor with two soft thuds. He took advantage of her momentary surrender and without further ado parted her folds and made himself at home inside of her. Her walls clenched and tightened around him, still riding the wave of pleasure he'd shot through her body.

"Baby you feel so good," he said breathlessly.

Rayna hummed slowly, her breath still coming in puffs. Sex with Deacon had always been different, she could never anticipate his next move. Over twelve years spent together and yet he would come up with something new every time, something that would feel better than ever. He still had that power over her, rarely letting her lead this dance, making her feel like she was putty in his hands.

He leaned down and captured her lips with his, and Rayna sighed into his mouth, completely absorbed by the feeling of him inside her. Her core tingled like a hundred needles were pinching her as he moved deeper into her, slowly, her walls expanding to accommodate him.

Once they were fully joined Deacon tore his mouth away and watched her. Her eyelids, heavy with arousal, fluttered open. "Hey," he said slowly, the air in his lungs sucked away by the beauty he was holding in his arms.

"Hey." She felt almost self-conscious as she looked up at him, her lips curving into a small smile.

Their lips crashed together again, and he felt her arms wrap tightly around his shoulders. Rayna felt him start to move inside of her, insanely slowly. Deacon took his time, the warmth of his body flowing into hers. They broke apart, gasping for air, his eyes boring into hers, and Rayna's hands tightened on his robust shoulders, feeling the muscles tightening and stretching underneath her fingers. He kissed every inch of her face, a featherypeck for each freckle. She had a lot more lines than she used to, and he felt guilt-ridden that he could take the blame for a good dozen of them. Regardless, she looked gorgeous to him. Her lips, her nose, the shape of her eyes, the way her hair fell effortlessly around her shoulders… he couldn't think of anything more beautiful than his woman. Rayna began to move her hips in sync with his, setting a new pace, and Deacon took her hands in his, bringing them above her head and pinning them on the pizza box.

"Whose hands are getting greasy now?" he asked mockingly.

Rayna laughed and whispered, ever so softly, "Come here."

He did as told and their tongues met before their lips did. It was unreal how much passion they could pour into a single kiss. Their teeth bumped together, and a smile formed on their lips as they continued their assault. Deacon buried himself deep inside of her and Rayna wrapped her legs around his hips, lifting her own slightly and snapping what little control she had left. They broke apart, running out of oxygen. Deacon pinned her hands with one of his and moved the other to her right breast, squeezing and massaging it harder than he intended to. Rayna moaned loudly as his hand cupped her, unable to tell what was giving her more pleasure: what was taking place downstairs or upstairs.

"God Deacon, please don't stop," she pleaded.

"Not going to," he replied, trying his best to save his breath for the task at hand. He could feel her pulsing around him, tightening and expanding with every movement of his hips. He sped up his pace and she squirmed and melted beneath him, the heat emanating from her skin driving him insane.

A series of curses were moaned loudly as they moved together in unison. Deacon lowered his head and took her breast in his mouth, letting his tongue and teeth play with her nipple. Rayna could feel her climax building again and as much as she needed her release, she was also scared to death this would come to an end too soon.

"Babe," she panted, unable to utter any other word.

Deacon moaned with a full mouth, reaching a point of no return, but he wondered if he'd ever returned from there at all. All those years spent apart, all that time fighting this and once again they were back to the start. Back to where it all began, where he was hers and she was his.

Rayna felt his groin crashing against her clit with a renewed force and it was killing her. She squeezed her eyes closed as she felt her climax threatening, and Deacon lifted his head as he felt her muscles start to contract around him, watching her in wonder. The look on her face was enough to push him over the edge; the way her parted lips searched desperately for oxygen, the way her breasts rose up and down unsteadily, the expression of pain mixed with pleasure on her face.

"Ray," he whispered, her name a breathy plea.

She felt an inexplicable urge to cry as she broke into a million pieces. Every fiber of her body was on high alert, waiting and wanting to take him in. And she did. The room was filled with moans and cries of each other's names as he stilled inside her and finally let go all he had to give.

Deacon dropped his head and leaned his sweaty forehead against her heaving chest, feeling her heart beating underneath him. Rayna felt the hold on her wrists loosen up and brought her hands to his face, cupping it, and when he finally opened his eyes and looked at her, his face broke into a smirk.

"Babe?"

"Mmm?" he hummed, resting his chin in between her breasts.

"This. _This_ felt like yesterday."

"Yeah."


End file.
